The Hero's Curse
by heofBOOYAH
Summary: Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The select few who aim for the highest goals will inevitably be the ones who run the greatest risk, and heroism is a high aspiration indeed.


**Welcome to Chapter 1 of my Marvel saga. Fair warning: the rating is T right now, but it the story will move into M territory fairly soon and I'll change the rating accordingly when that happens. The violence in this chapter is already what I consider to be the upper edge of T. Don't be alarmed by the Sumerian setting; I promise you we'll be catching up to the modern era. I've been having ridiculous amounts of fun dreaming this up, and I can only hope you have half as much fun reading it. Of course, I implore you all to leave thorough reviews - did you like my interpretation? Is everything clear? In fact, feel free to PM me so we can talk in detail. I love a good discussion, whether we're speaking as fans or writers.**

**Of course, I own nothing.**

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There was an unspoken rule in the region, born of bitter experience: no demons. The city-states and tribes had always been prone to warring with one another, and knowledge of the mystic arts wasn't rare, even if it wasn't widespread. It wasn't at all unheard of for armies to employ sorcerers to aid them in battle, and there were no holds barred. Plagues and locust swarms were popular tactics. But no demons were to be summoned, ever. That had been set in stone since a major city-state had tried to cheat a creature called Dormammu. The area that would come to be called the Cradle of Civilization had taken decades to recover from Dormammu's vengeance.

Poisons were allowed, as were the assassins who employed them. Torture and conspiracy and much worse things were all fair game. Mass hypnosis, mystically enhanced soldiers, and much darker magics were not unexpected. But no one ever dared to summon a demon for aid – until the Sumerians started to take over.

Sumer's onslaught was bafflingly powerful. Their soldiers had clearly been strengthened by powerful sorcery, but there were whispers that the soldiers themselves could use bizarre magic. The idea of a wizard being able to fight physically was unheard of – the time needed to study the world of the arcane was too much to allow any other form of study, least of all the time-consuming training regimen of a warrior. And yet it was whispered by those who had seen the Sumerian army that there were men who could bend steel, breathe fire, cast lightning from their hands, heal from any injury, or even control the earth itself. Those who were particularly well-informed whispered that the men were able to develop these skills because they never had to take the time to learn them. A great sorcerer had somehow woven the magic into the very souls of the soldiers, so that the spells became part of their own flesh. Only the mage responsible for the Sumerians' powers knew that the true secret behind Sumer's might was the bizarre energy that radiated from a massive pink crystal that had been unearthed in one of Sumer's mines.

The crystal and the wizard who harnessed its power had triggered a massive shift in the balance of power in the known world; suddenly Sumer was leaving the title of city-state behind and approaching the level of an empire. But as with any empire created through force, Sumer inspired many enemies. And thus, Sumer's conquests triggered the first violation of the anti-demon code that had occurred in three centuries.

To the south and west of the Sumerian capitol, the burned remains of a village stuck out from the landscape. This dead village was one of countless others that had been destroyed by the Sumerian conquerors. It was in no way special, save for the nameless man who had escaped its demise. He had seen his family die. He had seen a Sumerian soldier grab his wife and start to tear her clothes away, and he had known what was going to happen to her. He had watched his eldest son's head fall away from his neck, while his other children screamed at the sight of their own entrails on the ground. Indeed, the man had only escaped because the soldiers had been focused on his family. As he fled, hating the Sumerians for their actions and hating himself for fleeing like a coward, the man sought out the only warlord whose army had been able to stand against Sumer.

The warlord's name was N'Dabah Rashii. His origins were mysterious because he wanted them to be. He stood tall, so tall that a normal man's head would be level with Rashii's sternum. He rode into battle with thick cloth wrappings and steel gauntlets on his arms, leather breeches and boots with steel shin guards, and nothing else. He left his head and muscled chest bare and unprotected as a challenge to his enemies, daring them to try and strike him down. Rashii also left himself exposed to show off his strange appearance, which he knew frightened those around him. Rashii had no skin. At least, he had none that could be seen. He did have a tough clear covering over his muscles and tendons that functioned as his skin, but it was much studier than normal skin – enough to slow knives and protect him from fire and falling rubble. Clearly visible through the strange coating, his working muscles and blood vessels were extremely unsettling. Because his eyelids were effectively invisible, his eyes always gave the impression that Rashii was staring somewhat maniacally at everyone around him. On the rare occasion that someone worked up the courage to call him a monster, Rashii would silence their objections with a display of his inhuman strength by crushing their skull with a single hand. Some speculated that Rashii had been blessed by a war god, while others insisted that Rashii himself was of divine blood. Rashii allowed these rumors to spread and grow to serve his reputation, but his true history was quite different. A cult had needed a weapon, and one of the priestesses had volunteered to make one. The shamans had offered prayers and sacrifices to the deities of their religion that presided over war, and infused hostile magics into the developing fetus. By the time Rashii had reached his teens, he had grown tired of being treated as an object, expected to obey the whim of the high priest. He killed the wizards who created him so that no one would know his secrets, and started on the path of a conqueror, beholden to none. Now a grown man, Rashii had found that his path had placed him squarely in Sumer's way. When a common villager had the audacity to barge into Rashii's war room, demanding a place in the army with hate in his eyes, Rashii took a gamble. He spoke to the man, learning that he was the only survivor of his village and had seen his family die. Rashii took note of how the man trembled with anger as he talked of the Sumerians. Strong as he was, Rashii was at a disadvantage against Sumer because he alone could stand against the enemy's strange powers, and one man could not win a war. He knew that this villager and others like him could be useful, if only their hate could somehow be made manifest. In that moment, Rashii decided to break the taboo against consulting with demons.

A month later, the Sumerians were practically knocking on N'Dabah Rashii's front door. Just in the nick of time, Rashii's sorcerers had finished learning everything that would be needed for the summoning ceremony. Rashii had prepared an offering of a hundred loyal soldiers as sacrifices to Zarathos, the demon of revenge, in order to purchase a favor from the entity: to make physically manifest the hatred of the villager who had seen his family die, in such a way that the man would become a living weapon. Then, with everything in place and the deal successfully brokered, a problem arose to remind everyone why no one should ever seek alliance with a demon.

Rashii was shouting orders, directing the crumbling defenses of the city he controlled, when he heard his Chief Sorcerer, Niervael, screaming for his attention through the chaos of the growing battle. Niervael wasn't human. He had long and pointed ears, grey skin, long white hair, black eyes with no whites or irises, and dressed in a strange cloak that seemed to be made of shadows. Rashii had never cared enough to ask what type of being Niervael was; he cared only about Niervael's expertise in the magical arts. Niervael was notoriously stoic; the only time his expression had ever changed in the 15 years Rashii had known him had been a slight rising of his left eyebrow when someone had dared to question the extent of his mystic abilities. Seeing Niervael disheveled and agitated, hollering in obvious panic, caused the chill of fear to invade Rashii's spine for the first time in his life.

In the language of the era, Rashii demanded in his rough baritone, "What happened?"

Niervael's expression alone told him the answer; something had gone wrong with the deal with Zarathos. But before Niervael could actually provide any details, a massive explosion erupted from inside the borders of Rashii's city.

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**Ten minutes previously**

The man had been quite serious about wanting revenge against Sumer. He had been far less serious about his loyalty to N'Dabah Rashii. Rashii was no different from the Sumerians to him. The soldiers of Sumer were arrogant and cruel. They relished their strength because it allowed them to treat others as they pleased, raping and murdering with impunity. They reveled in their power because they were cruel men who wanted to dominate others, and Rashii was the same. He was a warlord, whose greatest pride was his ability to maim and kill. He was as cruel a bastard as any Sumerian, and he would burn for it. Anyone who liked to lord their power over others deserved to burn. In the man's mind, everything was quite simple. The fact that Rashii had effectively asked for the man's help proved that even the mighty warlord couldn't stop Sumer. So of this demon could make the man strong enough to punish the Sumerians, he would be strong enough to punish Rashii as well, along with any other tyrannical men he came across.

The man had walked into the open-air temple that had been erected for the summoning. As he knelt in a circle of esoteric diagrams, old wizards chanting all around him, he had felt something invade his brain. Something ancient and powerful, and more than a little hostile. The outer rim of the circle erupted in black and red flame, and two glowing yellow orbs that seemed to be eyes blazed into life in front of the man. A massive voice, grinding and forceful, had demanded to know why it had been summoned by mere mortals. The one called Niervael explained the deal Rashii was offering, and Zarathos accepted, but the eyes that bored into the former villager seemed to know what the man truly wanted. With a sacrifice of a hundred souls, Zarathos was happy to oblige. Kneeling in the circle, the man had gone rigid as the words of Zarathos suddenly echoed through his mind.

"_There is no hate like that of the weak and humble towards the strong and cruel, nor any vengeance like that of the oppressed against the tyrannical."_

Niervael watched with indifference as a field of a hundred men was consumed by the agonizing flames of Zarathos. Their fate was insignificant to him; he was only concerned with what Zarathos would do to the man that Rashii had hoped to turn into a weapon. Zarathos was a creature of fire, so Niervael was neither surprised nor concerned to see flames begin to creep along the villager's body. But when the man suddenly looked upwards wearing an expression of demonic glee before erupting into a bonfire, _that_ was cause for concern. Before anyone could react, the blazing creature that had once been human began to lay waste to everyone nearby. Niervael sensed that the mystic energies coursing through the villager's body were still on the rise, which meant that his transformation wasn't yet complete – and that his powers were growing rapidly. Niervael had no qualms about leaving the other assembled sorcerers to be slaughtered, nor did he bother to warn the soldiers who had been drawn by the screams of his dying colleagues. His critical mind was focused on alerting Rashii to the fact that his weapon had gone rogue. As he calmly glided towards where he sensed Rashii's soul to be, he was interrupted. The interruption came in the form of a formerly human avatar of rage, dressed in ragged leather pants and hellish flames. The creature was quickly learning how to control its powers, which were still growing. By hurling a fireball between its own feet, the monster propelled itself through the air to land directly in Niervael's path. In that moment, a master of magic and a product of magic stood studying each other. Niervael realized that the body of the man could still be seen beneath the flames of the demon. His flesh and muscle were slowly burning away – already Niervael was staring not into his eyes, but into his eye sockets.

The moment of stillness was broken when the hellish creature raised its right arm and pointed directly at Niervael's heart. Again, a moment of quiet stillness ensued, before the flaming monster abruptly spoke in a harsh voice that seemed to pulsate with energy.

"**You… GUILTY."**

Niervael's eyes widened as a massive stream of fire erupted from the beast's arm. He barely created a mystic barrier in time to avoid being consumed. Calling upon his knowledge of earth magic, he whispered an incantation that sent a shockwave from his feet through the ground, throwing his enemy off balance. He wasted no time in hurling a ball of black lighting at his stumbling opponent – an attack deadly enough to demolish a large hut. The orb slammed forcefully into the creature's chest, sending the monster skidding back across the ground, only to stop unexpectedly. Niervael was shocked to realize that the beast had caught the lethal bubble in its bare hands, as though it didn't even notice the level of dark magic compressed into the orb. As for the creature's own magic, Niervael could tell that the monster's power was still soaring upwards. With no effort, the beast crushed the dark ball between its hands, releasing the compressed negative energy in a massive blast. The shockwave kicked up a large cloud of dust and dirt, forcing Niervael to shield his eyes. When he squinted over his arm, the monster was almost upon him, bearing down with its fist pulled back. Niervael ducked under the punch and the wave of fire that issued from the fist, and then he threw his arms out to the sides. This simple gesture released a large omnidirectional force wave that blasted the blazing beast away and into the air. At twenty feet from Niervael and counting, the sorcerer could still feel the monster's powers growing at an alarming rate. It had already eclipsed Niervael's own power by a significant margin. Niervael was about to resume his search for Rashii when the airborne creature fired twin blasts of fire from its hands in the direction opposite of its flight path, rocketing itself back towards Niervael. The sorcerer hurriedly made the hand sign for flight, jetting out of the way just as the beast's fists struck the ground, triggering and explosion that left an impressive crater.

As the beast looked around for its prey, Niervael hovered above and took a moment to examine the creature and its escalating power, squinting through the dust kicked up by the crash landing. The flames that flowed from its body had reduced in size, suggesting that its power was finally beginning to stabilize. Almost all the flesh had been burned away from its body, leaving only a few patches of muscle and organs, indicating that the transformation of man into demon was almost complete. However, Niervael was sure that the creature would still be come much stronger before its abilities developed fully. At this point he was genuinely panicked. Not wasting any more time, Niervael began to chant hurriedly just as the monster spotted him through the dust cloud created by its landing. Glowing chains of energy appeared and began to bind the beast, but it ripped them away as fast as Niervael could conjure them. Niervael chanted faster, the earth itself began to ripple as glowing runes formed and danced in the air around the monster. The earth rose up and closed around the beast, trapping it, and the dancing runes melded into the growing dome of enchanted rock. It was as tall as three men and just as thick by the time Niervael was done. Hoping that the improvised prison would hold, he flew off towards Rashii.

He found Rashii directing the defenses of his stronghold, and began hollering for his attention long before he was close enough to speak. Rashii took notice of his disheveled state.

"What happened?" he demanded in his rough baritone.

Before Niervael could answer, a massive explosion erupted from further inside the city. The monster they had created had just escaped Niervael's hastily erected prison. Niervael decided there was no time for details. "Your weapon has turned against us," he said simply. Rashii cast his gaze towards the smoke of the blast. Had his eyelids been visible, his eyes would have been narrowed.

"Niervael, my blades," he ordered with false calm. Niervael quickly recited the incantation for summoning, creating a swirling purple rift in the ground. Twin sabers floated out of the rift in the ground, into Rashii's waiting hands. The steel of the blades was blackened and released an acrid red smoke – testaments to the foul magics with which Niervael had enhanced the weapons. "Niervael, see to the defenses while I punish this traitor," Rashii commanded. He stalked off towards the explosion.

Rashii came across the creature while it was obliterating the stables, and anyone inside. It was too preoccupied with screaming soldiers to notice him yet, so Rashii used the opportunity to inspect his enemy. What was once a man was now a raging demon. All of the flesh had been burned away, leaving only a skeleton, garbed in ragged leather breeches, with angry red flames pouring from its bones and billowing off from its skull and shoulders. Rashii quietly watched the demon eradicate all life in the stables, evaluating the threat posed by the enemy. When everything else was dead or screaming as it died, the vile spirit slowly turned its head towards Rashii, gazing at him from empty sockets, and raised its right arm to point at the warlord.

"**You… GUILTY."**

Had N'Dabah Rashii been able to sense mystic power as Niervael did, he would have known that his life was over the moment the spirit passed judgment. The demon stood facing Rashii head on, and its flames pulled inward as though the aberration was sucking in a mighty breath. Rashii tensed, preparing to dodge an attack. With the stables effectively leveled, there was nothing to hide behind. The demon roared out the breath it had taken, with the vengeance of the oppressed pouring out in a wave of flames from the beast's maw. Rashii leaped a good fifteen feet into the air, well above the hellish blast, and came down upon the creature with his cursed swords. Both of Rashii's blades crashed into the side of the demon's skull, sending it bouncing and skidding on the ground for twenty feet before it suddenly caught itself and leapt to its feet, apparently unharmed.

Rashii leaped again before the unholy thing could act, bringing both swords directly downwards with the intention of cleaving the monster's arms off. This time, the spirit intercepted the attack by catching one blade in each hand. The two monsters pushed against each other, with the flaming beast quickly gaining the upper hand. It lashed out with a kick to Rashii's stomach, sending the warlord flying back to the middle of the demolished stables. Rashii looked up to see the foul entity gathering a fireball in its outstretched left hand. Rashii cast his eyes about the area, spotting a dead horse next to him. As the beast launched the fireball, Rashii jammed his left saber into the ground and grabbed the horse's hind leg. With a small grunt of effort, he slung the massive animal one-handed into the path of the blazing sphere. Rashii charged through the resulting smoke, and emerged to find his enemy already in front of him. Just before they collided, the beast unleashed a grinding, ear-splitting scream, and a blast of fire from its whole body sent Rashii sliding and tumbling through the wreckage of the stables. He rose to his feet with a groan and realized that he had dropped his right saber. He looked for it hurriedly, only to spot it on the other side of his rapidly approaching enemy.

Rashii grimly placed both hands on his remaining sword and waited. The demon closed in with a wild punch. Rashii ducked under it, then came back up with an upwards sword slash that connected with the creature's jaw, forcing it back. Rashii attempted to follow up with a downward strike, but the beast sidestepped and lashed out with a left backhand. Rashii dodged the limb, but not the burst of roiling flames that trailed from it. Falling backwards, he took his left hand off his sword to catch himself. Before he could rise, the demon grabbed the wrist of his right arm – the one that held the sword. The beast released a scraping growl, and flames surged out along its arm. Rashii groaned as his assailant streamed forth a mighty blaze along his arm. He could smell his flesh burning and see it melting off of his forearm. In the midst of the blaze, the creature twisted his wrist violently, forcing Rashii to finally drop the second sword. With an immense effort of will, Rashii pushed himself off the ground and tried to strike the demon with his free hand. The beast grabbed his fist effortlessly, and renewed the blazing onslaught on Rashii's body. The proud warlord screamed shamelessly as the flesh of his arms and torso boiled away, exposing his ribs and arm bones. The flames suddenly abated, and Rashii collapsed to his knees, panting and groaning as the demon held him up by his wrists. Rashii looked up weakly to see that the beast was drawing in another breath. Rashii squeezed shut his transparent eyelids, wishing he could block out the image of his imminent death. The monster's flaming breath crashed into him, and Rashii was dead.

The Sumerians could almost taste their victory over N'Dabah Rashii when the flaming skeleton came upon them on the battlefield. They burned as fiercely as Rashii had. The many men who begged received to answer to their pleas. The demon disappeared without a trace, there being no one left alive to witness its departure. However, it continued to appear from time to time to slaughter piles of helpless victims. Its punishments fell hardest on despots, murderers, warlords, and all manner of cruel men. Rumors spread that the flaming skeleton was the manifestation of the justice of the gods, or perhaps a sort of demonic bounty hunter that preyed upon the wicked.

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After his death, the reputation of N'Dabah Rashii survived, and his name became a title of sorts that was held by the deadliest warrior of the land. The title passed through many lands, cultures, and languages, changing and evolving over time. Centuries later, the title would be taken in Egypt by a man with no name of his own. That warrior was ultimately immortalized in myth and hieroglyphics as the pharaoh En Sabah Nur.

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**This has been Chapter 1. I know most of you probably don't read these footnotes, so I'm just typing this as a formality. Please, I beg of thee, let me know what you think of this, be it a review or a PM. The more feedback I get the more easily I'll develop the confidence to write Chapter 2. Until I return, I wish you all the best. In the immortal words of Stan Lee...**

**Excelsior!**


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